Once Upon a Time
by clover
Summary: Before Titanic


A/N: This is just a sort of interpretation of what I feel Cal and Rose's relationship might have been before Titanic. I've basically taken that and described through Rose reminiscing while she walks around on Titanic's decks. 

Once Upon a Time

As I stand here on the bow of this amazing vessel, eyes stretched across the sunset, I'm reminded of so many that have risen and set in the last year. How fast it has all blown by so similar to this orange and crimson collage fading before me. If I had blinked I would have missed it all. 

It's true he was never the knight in shining armor type but I fell for him just the same. He was tall, dark, and hansom and I was just a foolish girl mesmerized by those charcoal eyes. As stubborn as I can be I'll admit just like every fluttering debutant I swooned when he chose to look at me let alone court me. I never really would have expected my future husband to be Cal since it was assumed such things were planned with great care and precision. In fact, I don't believe it would be him if weren't for that night.

I hadn't even planned on attending the ball but under my good friend Eliza's constant persistence I found a last minute escort and an amazing frock. So there I was aimlessly dancing about the floor in the arms of sweaty hands and clumsy steps. Breathing a sigh of relief at the end of a waltz I was hoping to make a run for it. Somewhere between the dance floor and the illusive exit I was petitioned for a dance from the most eligible bachelor. 

 How the butterflies swooshed about when we glided across the dance floor all night. I didn't even feel like I was moving my feet but as if I was sashaying on silken clouds in my own little world. I had found that illusive solace in Caledon's arms that night as we flowed to the music. I felt untouchable from any sort of pain with his arms around me.

Perhaps that's what I wanted so badly when the most tragic of news struck my heart down. I had never felt much compassion or love from my mother as some children might receive from theirs, but I had always had my father. However, he would not be there, to wipe my tears away and tell me it would all be ok, this time. I had grown sure that the hole in my heart from the stab of the news could not be any bigger. The months to fallow my beloved father's passing were a mix of a courtship and lawyers settling many discrepancies. Always I had a smile plastered on my face in time for Cal's usual visits so that he wouldn't see the flaws in my pain. If it hadn't been for his constant attention distracting me from painful mourning I don't believe I'd have been able to push through the heartache and see the light at the end of the tunnel.

A few months later in her memories

Sadly, that light turned out to be that of a train. The collision came in the middle of Christmas dinner shortly after my mother divulging our "economic needs" to me. Looking back I feel I played the fool for not paying attention to the fact that after courtship comes engagement. Panicked I sat bolted to my chair as the dreaded question came out more as a toast than an actual proposal with the tinkering glasses and applause before I could even respond. But what did it really matter? My decision was made for me the day my father died. I would be a wife and a mother as mine had been before me. The husband faceless later to be sketched in as a detail no different than that of the wedding invitations and floral arrangements. 

Not even Cal has been oblivious to my sudden change. I had once I dare even say loved him. I grew bitter that it was because of that love that I'd lose every part of me. My passion, my strength, and most of all my voice will all be lost with in the simple vow to love honor and obey. I can only guess that it is my coldness that causes Cal's frustration. Such levels of aggravation that it has become our bickering trade mark as we made our way across Europe. Yet here I stand with the chains of an engagement ring and the only conciliation being our faded love. 


End file.
